A deep bell that links the downsTo the drowsy air;Every loop of sound that swoons,Finds a circle fair,Whereon it doth rest and fade;Every stroke that dins is laidLike a node,Spinning out the quivering, fine,Vibrant tendrils of a vine:(Bim - bim - bim.)How they wreathe and run,Silvern as a filmy light,Filtered from the sun:The god of sound is out of sight,And the bell is like a cloud,Humming to the outer rim,Low and loud:(Bim - bim - bim.)Throwing down the tempered lull,Fragile, beautiful:Married drones and overtones,How we fancy them to swim,Spreading into shapes that shine,With the aura of the metals,Prisoned in the bell,Fulvous tinted as a shell,Dreamy, dim,Deep in amber hyaline:(Bim - bim - bim.)